When this minister teaches, the inmates flock

Friday

May 17, 2013 at 12:01 AM

His clothing — gray slacks, a red sweater vest over a white button-down shirt — stood out in a room full of orange jumpsuits. As the 77-year-old shuffled past prisoners, he held a Bible tightly in his wrinkled hands.

By DUSTIN WYATTdustin.wyatt@shj.com

His clothing — gray slacks, a red sweater vest over a white button-down shirt — stood out in a room full of orange jumpsuits.As the 77-year-old shuffled past prisoners, he held a Bible tightly in his wrinkled hands.“How are you, Mr. Plemmons?” said one inmate, who approached the familiar guest with a handshake and a warm smile.“Good to see you again,” another said.They helped him set up chairs around a table.The Rev. William Plemmons is a regular and welcome guest at the Spartanburg County Detention Center.Despite health issues — a limp, a bad neck, poor vision — he still visits twice a week.Ministering to inmates is “just what God called me to do,” he said.On a recent Tuesday, some inmates in pod three played cards, some watched TV, some spoke to family on the phone. Others, about six or seven, circled around Plemmons and Linwood Harris as they led a Bible study.The inmates offered prayer requests, then Harris opened in prayer and read from Scripture.

After closing in prayer, Plemmons, with his head low from a bad neck and a limp from bad legs, slowly made his way to a different section of the jail. Officers in the halls offered friendly greetings as he passed.“Everyone here knows him by name,” said Harris, a friend and fellow prison minister who drives Plemmons to the jail each week. Plemmons' vision has gotten so bad that he can no longer drive himself. “If I didn't drive him, he would still find a way to get here.”Plemmons, an ordained minister who went to Fruitland Bible Institute in Hendersonville, N.C., could never preach in front of a church, he said. He always feared talking in front of large groups.But when it comes to talking in jails, “I'm comfortable doing this,” he said. “It doesn't bother me at all. I can go to the roughest places, walk up to people and talk to them.”Plemmons began ministering to inmates in 1977 when he went to a now-closed facility in Duncan with a friend.“About 16 (inmates) came to the service, and they seemed like they were really interested in God's word,” he said. “It just impressed me, and I left saying: ‘I'd like to do this kind of work.' ”He has been a prison minister ever since, serving at many jails, prisons and correctional facilities throughout the Upstate over the years. But it's not his main job. He and his wife, Shelby, own Plemmons Westview Greenhouse on Blackstock Road. He does his prison ministry work as a volunteer.“I enjoy doing both,” he said. “But the real joy I get is seeing people turn their life over to the Lord and get saved.”The Rev. Kenneth Apple, who became chaplain of the Spartanburg County Detention Center two years ago, said everyone at the jail respects Plemmons.“These men look forward to him being there each week,” he said. “He has been coming in here for so long, inmates think of him as their pastor.

“I know of no more faithful man. Even when he is not feeling well, he still comes, and we will allow him to go until he can go no longer.”

Things have changed over the years. Before Apple was hired, the jail's policy was a little different, and Plemmons had a lot more freedom with his ministry. He used to be able to go door to door in the jail and approach the inmates, initiating conversation.“I can't go to the door anymore, knock and say, ‘Can I talk to you about the Lord?' ” he said.Apple says the changes reflect a desire to protect the religious rights of the inmates.“If inmates didn't want that kind of contact, we would force them into something of which they had no choice,” he said. “We cannot go door to door and solicit men, talk to them or distribute literature.”Now, Plemmons has to sit at a table in a pod and hope inmates come to him.“Within the pods,” Apple said, “the men have the religious freedom to do whatever their faith would dictate. But we cannot influence them to come to our services or talk to us.”Apple said the jail does everything it can to make sure inmates can practice their religious beliefs, whatever they might be.“There's some really good things happening inside this jail,” he said.

Before Plemmons and Harris make their way to the pods for Bible study, they go to a meeting room and pray that inmates will join them at the table, and that their message will be heard.“We do a lot of praying,” Plemmons said. “If we don't, there's no use in us coming.”Their presence makes a difference. Even with the policy changes, inmates willingly flock to Plemmons' Bible study.On a recent Tuesday, at the end of the session, an inmate walked up to Plemmons, shook his hand and quietly whispered: “Thank you, Mr. Plemmons. God bless you.”“Next time you come,” Plemmons replied, “bring some friends.”Plemmons said he leaves every week with the names of new people who have been touched by his message.“If God wasn't doing something, I wouldn't keep going,” he said.He has even had people who recently got out of jail visit his home and speak about how their lives have changed.“I work with about 250 people in a year, and you can't stay close to that many people after they get out. But some of the more personal ones, I have on my prayer list and I pray for every day.”